


From Italy with Love

by wordsalad



Category: Meryl Streep/Don Gummer RPF, STRUMMER - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, PWP, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsalad/pseuds/wordsalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don had been very patient. He’d been nothing but patient towards his wife of more than three decades. But lately, his patience was running thin. Meryl had been snapping at him at every opportunity the woman had. He didn’t understand if it was the menopausal thing, or the lack or maybe excess of a hormone, or what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Italy with Love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back but hadn’t had the chance to finish it until now. I still have a few drafts on my laptop for drabbles and one shots, and I’m planning to work on them before my new work starts.
> 
> Same blah blah applies in regards to beta and my meager writing skills. :P

The universe must really hate her at the moment. The last few weeks have been trying. More than trying, if she were to ran it by her standards. And you couldn't possibly underestimate her standards as she knew and experienced well truly trying times. What was it she said before? 'You love without looking.' Context was not the same, but still, fuck that. I looked. I fucking looked so I fucking saw, she angrily thought to herself.

It started almost four weeks ago. She was to attend an event, and like what she has done for more than three decades, informed her husband and asked him to accompany her. It would have been simple and glitch-free had Don accepted her invitation. Unfortunately, he didn't. He had a new client who claimed she'd been interested in her husband's works for years but only recently found the time and money to reach out to Don. She didn't mind it. Clients were everything. Clients meant money, not that they needed it, but it didn't hurt either. Most of all, clients made her husband felt good about himself--about being an artist. Because it meant that someone appreciated and understood her husband's artworks. So like a lovely and understanding wife that she was, she smiled and pretended it was okay and she understood when her husband turned her offer down.

Unfortunately, the turning down of her invitation somewhat became the norm after this new client entered their peaceful married life. Really, she wouldn't have been bothered, except their friends had been asking for Don. _'Where's your husband tonight, Mrs. Gummer?' 'Meryl, where's Don?' 'You really shouldn't let him stay too long in his studio.' 'Give him a breather and take him with you some time, will you? We miss him!'_ All these words, phrases and questions were starting to get on her nerves. Her standard response had been, 'Believe me, if I have a say, I'd drag him here. But he's busy with his new project. I didn't have the heart to force him to accompany me.' Fuck yes, she didn't. Because after Don turned down a couple of her invitation, aided by what seemed like never ending queries as to where her perfect husband was, she finally snapped. And snap she did. She'd been very short-tempered with him--'very' being the keyword. She's normally short-tempered, Don had been used to that. The kids knew that. She's grumpy, most of the time, at least that's what it felt like for her. She knew that. But lately, she'd been pure evil. Heartless even.

She couldn't quite grasp why on earth all these parties and charity events were happening now, of all days, why when Don's busy and had this new client. She hated attending these things alone, and wouldn't attend, really, had she had the guts to turn some of them down. She did, turn some of them down, the ones that didn't seem too important. But the others, she just couldn't because it was either a dear friend's birthday celebration, or an event for a cause she strongly believed in.

So this pent up anger had been building up for almost a month now, and tonight, it all boiled down. She was preparing for another event when she noticed her husband's white shirt beside the laundry basket. Why he couldn't put his laundry ON the basket after been nagged by her for more than three decades was beyond her. She recently stopped the nagging part and just accepted that there really were some things men seemed to be incapable of doing. Like putting the dirty shirt on the laundry basket instead of throwing it beside the basket. Picking up her husband's white shirt, the first thing she noticed was the smell. Definitely not Don's cologne, nor the smell of the fabric conditioner she used in their clothes. It smelled..like wild roses. The distinct smell made Meryl's nostrils flare up, and when she shook and searched the shirt for any other 'sign', there it was--staring right at her. A smudge of what seemed to be a pink lipstick. Fucking classic.

 

\-----------

 

Don had been very patient. He’d been nothing but patient towards his wife of more than three decades. But lately, his patience was running thin. Meryl had been snapping at him at every opportunity the woman had. He didn’t understand if it was the menopausal thing, or the lack or maybe excess of a hormone, or what. He first noticed this when he turned down several invitations to accompany her on some events that he really found boring, and trivial at most. He’d been busy. He hadn’t felt this sort of rush in adrenaline for years, and he welcomed it with such enthusiasm he hadn’t had in what seemed like eternity. The current project he’d been presented with was big, no, humungous. So like any other artist who’d been given such opportunity, he worked his ass off with passion to the point of rarely getting enough sleep. All this time consuming work and arts and passion were also accompanied by attention. Attention of his client. A female Italian client to be specific. She was probably on her early fifty’s with jet black hair and sparkling green eyes. He’d be lying if he’d say the woman was nothing but breathtakingly beautiful. Her figure was fantastic, product of yoga and regular gym, she mentioned casually one evening. She had the certain regal air that surrounds her whenever she was near him. He was flattered. That’s what he kept on telling himself. He was just flattered and the Italian woman’s constant attention had been a very good stroke for his ego, not just as an artist, but mainly for a man his age. The woman was obviously smitten with him and she made no ball of hiding it. He didn’t know how to handle it at first, never really had any experience with such somewhat superfluous admiration and attention. Until tonight. She crossed the boundary he set first hand. He told her since the beginning that he was married, even mentioned the name of his wife, which the woman pretended she hasn’t heard. A big lie of course. He made it a point to not bite back all the teases that the woman threw his way. He felt great, really, knowing that he caught this beautiful woman’s attention but he was not a lunatic. He was happily married and he loved his wife and his family more than life itself. Yes, his wife was snappy and bitchy at him but that’s not enough of a reason to give up the three decades of love and life they shared. No reason ever would suffice for him to give up his family.

The woman had been drinking wine the minute she entered his studio. He didn’t mind it. He thought it must be norm for Italian folks, to drink wine early in the morning with the vast land of vineyards and winery present in Italy. So he left her to her own devices and worked on his new sculpture that this woman had requested for him to make. He made casual conversation and she responded amicably. They had lunch delivered in his studio and they ate together with companionable silence. Then he proceeded to work back on his sculpture while she watched him work silently, commenting every now and again, if only to remind him that she was there, watching him.

He was ready to call it a day as it was quarter past six. He looked up and saw that the woman was well and truly inebriated by now. She was leaning heavily on one of his work-top and smiling seductively at him. God, he still couldn’t deny the fact that she was very beautiful even at her current state.

“Hi..” she slurred, and hiccupped.

“Hello.” He chuckled, “You look..”

“Drunk?.. Yes.” She laughed. “I got carried away, you see,” she added chuckling, her Italian accent thicker due to the alcohol she consumed.

Don laughed, “Yes. I see. So, should I get you a cab?” he asked at the same time he tried to clean up a bit on the mess he called a studio.

He didn’t notice that she was coming over his side and he was caught off guard when she lost her footing and landed on him. Good thing he caught her, as his body was in front of his work top. The alternative would have been gory as she would land, face first, on his work top filled with steel bars and sharp-edged glasses. She grasped his white shirt and held on to it as if her life depended on it. She gripped his shoulder tightly, trying her best to stood up and balance herself. The alcohol she consumed was not helping her one bit. Her lips accidentally brushed the collar of his shirt as she straightened up. She was tall but he was taller. The close proximity of their faces as she tried to look up and focus drove her senses wild. She looked at his lips and then his eyes, and then her gaze traveled down to his slightly parted lips once more. A tiny bit movement would have ensured that their lips would have met, but he knew what was happening. It was wrong on so many levels, it made him dizzy. He instantly backed away, as far as he could, but kept his firm grip on her shoulders to steady the woman.

“You okay?” he asked and laughed nervously.

She didn’t respond at first, instead gazed at him longingly. It was there. This attraction she felt for him seemed to have doubled over the whole day that she spent with him. He was enigmatic, gentle, and most of all funny. It was what attracted her to him the most. She imagined what he’d be like in bed, what he looked liked every morning when he woke up, what made him cry, what excites him. That was when she knew it was not a simple attraction. She fell in love with a very married man—Don Gummer.

“Isabella?”

She snapped out of her trance when she heard him call for her name, and waved softly at her. She smiled apologetically, “Yes. I’m sorry. I am fine. Would you mind calling me a cab?”

“No, not at all. Here let me help you..” he said as he helped her to reach the couch in the corner and sat her.

“Thank you, Don.” she replied quietly.

She knew that she was out of line, and even the mere thought of something might come off of her foolish desires was preposterous. But she had no control over her feelings. She was used to getting whatever she wanted. This time around though, it was loud and clear that it would not be the case. In spite of that, she couldn’t help but try her luck. See if he would crack and see some light, maybe, and find her attractive. Men cheat, she thought. What made him any different? But he was, of that she was certain. She has tried countless of times to seduce him ever since they started on this project, but she kept on failing—miserably, if she was being honest. The man adored his wife to pieces. He kept on blabbering things she really didn’t give a single shit about, talking about his wife. She should have recorded the details and sold it to the press but she didn’t have the guts. What they shared was precious, she thought, and she didn’t want to betray his trust. She tried to deny the fact that he was married, even lied about not knowing who Meryl Streep was, but it was pointless. It was as if he knew what she was doing, knew her erratic techniques to catch his attention, and so he distracted her with tales upon tales about his wife and kids, trying his best to use his stories as a shield over her seducing powers. His wife would kill him had she known about the stories he revealed to this guileful woman. And revealed he did, and he never made up a single story. She lost it, obviously, and acted desperate this time around. She hated herself for it. She was disappointed to learn that after fifty plus years on this earth, a man named Don Gummer would crumble the regal wall she had built over the years. She gently shook her head and accepted her painful defeat.

“I’m sorry, Don.” She whispered quietly.

Don almost didn’t hear her as her voice was raspy. He looked at her and noticed that she looked so lost and was about to cry, “For what?”

“You know what.. I’m sorry. I.. Your wife is a very lucky woman.” She responded, and smiled at him, tears brimmed her eyes.

Don smiled kindly and knew what she was talking about, “No harm done, Isabella. And no, I’m the lucky one to have found Meryl.”

She nodded and stood, swayed a little but managed to compose herself. “I must go, Don. I’ll have my agent talk to you. Just send me a picture of the sculpture once it’s done, and then we’ll arrange the shipping of it to my home in Italy.”

“So you’re going back to Italy? I thought you’re here to stay for a couple more weeks?”

“No. It’s fine. I know already that I will not be disappointed with the finish product of your work. Actually, I knew that from the very beginning. I.. I need to go home and..” she swallowed softly, “..fix my broken heart.” Her voice cracked on her last word as she laughed softly, but her tears finally rolled down her porcelain cheeks. She hastily wiped them and smiled sadly at him. She didn’t wait for his response and promptly walked and exited the studio.

Don didn’t have the chance to respond and instead watched her retreating back and the closing of the door. He sighed and smiled, and shook his head, “You’ll have your chance at happiness, Isabella. Someday..” he said to no one in particular. He gathered his keys, turned off the lights and left for home.

\-------

Meryl stood there motionless but her death grip on her husband’s shirt remained. She tried her best to not jump to stupid conclusions but she couldn’t help it. This must be why he’d been turning her down these past few weeks. He finally gave in and carried on with an affair with his client. That Italian woman. He even had the nerve to mention to her a couple of times that she was very beautiful. He was teasing her, she supposed then, but now it looked like a full blown affair was what they were having. She couldn’t believe it. She thought she knew him—knew that he was not capable of such. But he was a man after all. They didn’t think straight when they have a hard on. Fucking men. She was too angry to cry and she just felt like she wanted to hit something, or someone. She needed to let out the rage she was feeling or she might pass out.

Don entered their bathroom and noticed his wife. She looked angry, he thought. Her chest was red and heaving, and her face red from the anger that seemed to consume her. She already had her light make-up on, her hair was blow-dried and styled nicely. It looked like she was about to put on her blouse as she was still on her nude colored bra and black pencil skirt. She looked fucking amazing, he thought. But why did she seem mad?

 

Before he could form another thought, his white shirt hit his face and he was caught off guard, “What in the fuck was that Donald?”

He looked utterly confused as he held his shirt and looked at his fuming wife, “what?”

“Your fucking shirt smelled like a woman! And don’t even deny that mister because there’s a smudge of fucking pink lipstick on it too!” her nostrils flared as her voice rose with every word she said.

Don paled and stared at his wife, but managed to pull himself together. “If you think I’m having an affair and fucking around, well think again, Mary.” He knew he must not let his wife get to him.

Meryl was caught off guard with her husband’s response. It was not what she expected. He usually start his lame excuses whenever he was guilty with ‘it’s not what you think..’. This time around though, he beat her off the bush and straight on told her off.

She was loathed to admit but his response actually warmed her heart. She liked it. It could only mean that Don was serious and was really not having an affair. Thank fuck for that, she thought. Being married for as long as they had, she knew perfectly well her husband’s choice of words whenever they argue. And this time around, she couldn’t be wrong and sighed inwardly when she heard her husband’s response.

But being the stubborn woman that she was, she continued the irritated front and asked, “Would you like to explain then what happened to your shirt?”

Don sighed, inwardly seething. He couldn’t believe his wife had jumped to conclusions and thought he was having an affair. He walked past Meryl and proceeded towards the sink to wash his face and shave.

“What’s the point? You already made conclusions.” Don said, disappointment and sadness lacing his tone.

Meryl remained quiet and immediately felt bad. But really, could you blame her? Any thinking married woman would have behaved the way she did had they faced the same situation. Right? What else could you possibly conclude over a shirt smelling like a woman with a smeared pink lipstick on it? It wasn’t rocket science, really, and she felt that her asking him, albeit her tone was conclusive and accusatory, was just and right.

She shook her head and decided she didn’t have time to be upset as she had a huge charity event ahead of her. “Fine.” Meryl replied quietly, hurt evident on her voice.

Don looked through the mirror and saw that his wife was getting more upset by the minute. This argument would just blew over unless one of them concede. He decided that his wife acted like a normal human being by being accusatory and a little judgmental over his shirt. Actually, he realized, he’d be surprised, and probably more upset if his wife found his shirt the state it was in and then wouldn’t even bat an eyelash over it. That would be more disturbing, yes.

He moved away from the sink to face his wife. He reached out and held on her waist to stop her from moving. Meryl stopped but said nothing, her gaze fixated on the floor as her husband pulled her closer.

“Hey.. I’m sorry..” Don said as his gaze traveled his wife’s face, hoping she’d look up.

Meryl inhaled before looking up. “What did you want me to think, Don? Your shirt smelled like a woman and there’s lipstick on it. I’m not stupid and I--”

“No one’s saying you’re stupid, honey.” Don cut her off and kissed her temple before he continued, “..it’s Isabella.”

Don felt his wife stiffened from his arms as she pressed her lips together. “Okay, stop right there..” Don said. “I didn’t cheat..Nothing happened..” he started and proceeded to tell what happened the whole day to his wife.

Meryl felt the sincerity on her husband’s words and believed him completely. She knew the man for more than three decades and she’d been pretty good in reading him whenever he was lying, and this time, he wasn’t and she knew with solid certainty.

She listened as Don told the story. She felt bad for the woman who obviously fell in love with her husband, and she couldn’t blame her. Don was a charmer, right from the very beginning and he charmed his way through life and people, making everyone love and appreciate him not just as an artist but most of all as a human being. But she was still irked with the story that the woman had the gull to seduce her husband. She just shrugged it off when Don told her about his telling stories, private family life stories, to this woman. It worked, she believed, and made the woman see clear that Don was faithful and wouldn’t risk his marriage for a quick fuck and affair. Don was not stupid to engage in a sordid affair and Meryl could very much cater to her husband’s sexual needs, thank you very much.

Meryl remained very quiet as her gaze was fixated on her husband’s shoulder. The silence was slowly driving Don’s nerves insane.

“Honey?”

Meryl looked up and smiled lovingly at him, “I love you.” She said and grinned.

Don chuckled, “For a second I thought you’d kill me,” he said as he pecked on her nose, “I love you, Mrs. Gummer.”

“So it never crossed your mind to give her a shot?”

“What shot?”

“Don..” she said with soft glare, trying to contain her glee, knowing that her husband was still very much in love with her even at this day and age.

“In spirit of honesty, she’s really hot and was really into me, honey.” He said, playfully mocking with his wife.

Meryl narrowed her eyes and pretended to remove herself from her husband’s embrace.

“But not as hot as my wife. Especially when she’s angry..” he whispered seductively on her ear as he softly sucked her ear lobe.

Meryl chuckled and swatted his arm, “Let’s discuss this further later, Mr. Gummer. I have an event to attend.”

Don smiled at his wife, loving that their playful banter finally resumed, and her mood had improved, meaning his doghouse days were over. Her snappy mood had been the norm lately..And it suddenly occurred to him that her mood the past few weeks could be a product of—

“I think I know now why you’ve been a bitch lately.. You were jealous,” he said laughing as he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

Meryl threw her head back and laughed out loud, “I have every right to be.” She said as she playfully grabbed Don’s behind.

“Possessive..I like.” Don said as he nuzzled her neck.

“Don, I don’t have time for this. Can we--”

“Later, yes.” He said as he kissed her soft lips, planning for it to be short and sweet but lost himself as Meryl responded to him sensually. After a few moments, and when air was finally a must, Meryl broke the kiss and playfully pecked on Don’s lips once more, “Yes. Later. Now, I really have to go, mister.”

Don smiled and nodded, “Can I be your escort tonight, miss?”

Meryl broke to her mega-watt smile, the smile Don hadn’t seen in a while but still rendered him breathless whenever. “Yes, please.” She responded lovingly.

Once again, their love managed to dodge another disaster thrown their way.

 

FIN.

 

**“Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, but if it isn't overdone (and if it's combined with modesty), apart from its inconvenience there's even something touching about it.”**   
_― Milan Kundera, Laughable Loves_


End file.
